


Music To Her Ears

by TallFlower



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Airports, Cute, Cute Ending, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Nostalgia, Phone Calls & Telephones, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 16:33:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14265132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TallFlower/pseuds/TallFlower
Summary: While stuck in Numbani's national airport, Angela gets a surprising call from an old friend, and thinks back upon her past adventures. And those she could have in the future.A fic featured in the Gency zine, "Where the Wind Takes Us", hosted by Squiddy and TheBoredBookworm, fic written by me.





	Music To Her Ears

**Author's Note:**

> I had the pleasure of being a part of the "Where the Wind Takes Us" contributors list, which I'm forever grateful for. Everyone was so nice! And I hope after all this waiting, you guys will enjoy my work along with everyone else's!

Gentle sounds of violins played in the doctor’s ears from where she sat, slumped over and dozing on a bench, her hood up over her blonde hair (which hadn't seen a brush in over twenty-four hours) and hands in her front pocket. The music lovingly sang through her earbuds; to accompany them was the soft swell of piano and brass. In the background she could still faintly hear the voice over the intercom declaring information about flights, and the distinct hum of both machines working and people rushing. 

The music kept Angela on the tightrope of being awake and falling into unconsciousness — enough to keep her alert of any announcements she needed to hear while still giving the rest her body and mind craved. 

That is, until a blaring ringtone replaced the soothing tune that was once there.

Angela shot up, eyes wide and heart racing from the sudden noise. For a split second her mind blanked, completely dazed.  _ Where am I? What am I doing?  _ She brought a hand up to her face, digging the sleep out of the corners of her eyes with her fingers before blinking and looking around her, waiting for them to adjust to the airport’s harsh lighting. 

The walls surrounding her were plastered with black plasma screens. Written in white were various arrival and departure times — her flight still read as delayed. Before falling asleep and with the knowledge of her limited phone battery (and no available panel in sight), Angela had gone down the list of cities named on the screen in an attempt to entertain herself. She ticked off the ones she had been to and all those that she hadn't, categorizing those she went to for pleasure (none of them) and the ones she had gone to for work ( _ all of them _ ). All it really did was remind her how overworked she was and how she was well overdue a  _ long  _ holiday.

The people who passed her ranged from children who were excited beyond belief to adults who were mind-numbingly bored as they stood with their luggage at the check-in desk. All of them were trying to ignore the elephant in the room — or, in this case, the omnic in the wall. 

Directly in front of the doctor was a large brown wall that separated the two exits of Adawe International Terminal, most of its tiles cracked and shattered like a web across its surface. Sitting in the centre of that web was a large OR15, sitting limply and staring off into the distance. Its white and green patting was charred black, its six eyes greyed with no life within them.

Angela looked away from the carnage to dig out her still ringing phone from her pocket, pulling out the earphones as she did. She didn't recognise the number but, given her job, she was used to it. It was with a heavy sigh the she swiped the green button and, while trying not to sound like she was half asleep, said in a clear voice, “Dr. Angela Ziegler here. May I ask who I’m speaking with?”

“Ah, Dr. Ziegler,” a man hummed back at her. His voice crackled with static but was still filled with warmth and familiarity, and the sound sent her heart fluttering in her chest. “It's been too long.”

“Genji!” she exclaimed, filled with the urge to hug the phone in the hopes he'd feel it. Instead, she placed a hand over one ear to block out the chaotic chatter around her, trying her best to remain calm. “You got a phone! It only took you five years.”

“I'll have you know it's been  _ six _ years,” Genji said and, from his tone, she knew he was smiling just as much as she was. “And yes! I did! Well, sort of. It’s a very old make – the man who sold it to me said it's called an iPhone? Quite frankly I'm amazed that the battery has lasted this long. It's not even solar powered! Can you believe such a thing?” He paused for a second, and then returned after a bit of muffled swearing, “I apologise profusely for my language. I'm on top of a building trying to get coverage. It's… windy. Nevertheless! It's a small sacrifice for the possibility of being able to speak with you.”

“I'd prefer if you weren't trying to break your back again, Mr Shimada,” Angela said with a smile. “It took quite a while to fix it the first time.”

There was more muffled swearing, and a quiet yelp, before Genji came back. “I am risking my very  _ life _ to talk to you. And all you're doing is berating me.” He sighed. “I already miss the letters.”

Angela shook her head again. The two of them hadn't spoken face to face in years; too preoccupied by their own work. Due to most of his time being spent at the Shambali temple with his master with limited internet access (with limited being an overstatement), the two had to rely on pen and paper.

_ “It's more intimate. Personal. The same techniques lovers of old would apply so that they may speak from the heart to their other half. I'm bearing my soul to you with written words _ ,” Genji had written one year after she had complained about it.  _ "lmao brb boutta die again" _ had also been hastily scribbled at the end, accompanied with a rushed doodle of what she could only guess was Zenyatta with a flurry of snowballs around him. 

And, as if he couldn't help himself, at the bottom of the page (that had been delivered to her slightly waterlogged), he'd written, _ "I need healing." _

It had really ruined his ‘it's more romantic’ argument.

“Even you have to admit that they were growing impractical,” Angela said, stifling a yawn. She would have done  _ anything _ for a good cup of coffee. “I have three boxes full of feathers in my apartment. All of them from  _ you _ . I’m starting to look insane.” 

“Wait a moment.” She could practically hear him squint down at the phone. “You keep the feathers?”

“Of course I do,” Angela said, feeling her cheeks suddenly go red after realising the insinuation. She continued to stammer out, “They’re for my army. I’m building my own bird militia in my lab so that I may rule the world.” 

Angela winced for a second at her own joke – why on earth did she think  _ that _ was a good idea? – but a hearty laugh rang down the phone, allowing a sense of relief to flow through her body. It always warmed Angela to hear it; his sweet, joyful chime could be heard from a mile away, echoing down the phone, vocal cords crackling like an old vinyl record.

Back when they first met in Overwatch, Genji initially came across as a rather serious man. Very quiet, always stewing in anger yet never raising his voice. Not that there  _ were _ many funny moments — not back then. Not when Overwatch was on its last legs. When everyone was abandoning the sinking ship. When Overwatch was transforming from a symbol of hope to one of corruption.

But in those few moments when something did tickle Genji as funny, he  _ howled _ . Always throwing his head back and cackling until he couldn't breathe. Angela would sit back to relish in the sound as though it were a symphony — knowing that at least she made one person happy that day. 

Once his laughter died down, she heard Genji breathe, “The angel motif has gone way too far, Angela.”

The doctor smiled, this time in a sly, diabolical way. “Oh, just you wait,” she said before she pulled the phone away from her ear, quickly searching her gallery for a photo of her new and improved Valkyrie suit. One that was quite different from her blue Strike-Team gear back in the day. She sent it off to him, her grin growing wider as she patiently waited for him to open it up.

Once he did, Angela heard a sharp gasp. “ _ Is that a halo?! _ ”

“It might be.”

On the other end of the phone, Genji sounded shocked. “Angie… I… you kept this from me… for five years—”

“Six years.”

“— _ six years _ …” A beat of stunned silence before, “This all has to stop. Your villainous schemes end today. You were in Oasis last time we spoke, I'll fly there to defeat you.”

Playing along, she said, “I’m currently in Numbani airport trying to get back to Oasis, if you  _ really _ think you can stop me.” Just outside her vision, Angela could see the OR15 still staring blankly at her. Her attention was drawn over to just above the OR15’s body. The TV screen was still functioning despite the large crack across its surface. Right next to her flight number was red, foreboding text. She let out a groan, rolling her eyes. “Nevermind. It's been canceled. I'm stuck until further notice. Seems you won’t be defeating me anytime soon, Mr Shimada.”

There was no reply.

Angela stared at her phone, before pressing it back to her ear. “Genji?” 

Still, nothing. The line was silent. 

Her heart stopped in her chest, remembering what Genji had told her —  _ He was on the top of a building.  _ Angela stood up, desperately looking around for any ideas.  _ Oh no, oh no! Has he fallen? What country did he say he was in again? He never said. Oooh no. I have to get into contact with Zenyatta or— _

“Angela!” she heard someone yell, the voice echoing off of the walls faintly. 

The doctor turned towards the voice, seeing a familiar white-and-green blur bounding toward her, going around the crumpled body of the OR15 with several airport employees chasing after him and asking to show identification or his plane ticket before he could go past duty-free. But that didn't slow him down; Genji launched himself at Angela, throwing his arms around her neck and repeatedly saying, “You're here! You're actually here!” 

For a second she stood in complete shock, before wrapping her own arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder, his cool plating pressed against her cheek.

Beneath his mask, Angela could hear him laugh and, with a smile, she realised how it sounded like music to her ears. 


End file.
